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V 


HASSAN. 


A    VISION    OF    THE    DESERT. 


BY 

JOHN  RITCHIE. 


CHICAGO : 

F.  J.  SCHULTE  &  COMPANY;  PUBLISHERS, 

298  DEARBORN  ST. 


Copyright,  1892, 

By  FRANCIS  J.  SCHULTE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


PS 


aOD  REIGN'S !    In  desolate  splendor  lay  the  waste 
That,  like  a  fiery  scar  seared  wantonly 
By  errant  sun,  lies  broad  across  the  brow 
Of  Africa.     Amid  the  yellow  silence, 
A  withered  fig  tree  thrust  its  shriveled  limbs 
Aloft,  and  into  the  scant  umbrage  crept, 
From  the  full  flush  of  noonday's  fervid  glow, 
A  wounded  Arab.     Round  the  shrunken  stem 
His  tawny  body  sinuously  curled, 
And  harshly,  from  between  white  teeth  in  agony 
Unlipped,  his  wild  thanks  dragged  their  guttural  course 
For  this  poor  shelter.     Not  for  self  alone. — 
Muffled  by  swathing  folds  of  burnous,  torn 
And  stained,  that  ever  in  tender  clasp  he  bore, 
A  puling  cry  uprose,  and,  in  his  pain, 
"With  rueful  joy  his  swart  face  overshone ; 
For  sweeter  savor  than  the  parent  love 
Immortal  never  knew.     Out  where  the  glare 
In  snaky  coils  writhed  up,  his  horse,  with  flank 
Collapsing,  flaccid  neck  outstretched,  and  by 
Eternal  numbness  smit,  the  tongue,  that  lolled 
Unshrinking  on  the  burning  sand.     No  more 
In  wing6d  flight  was  he  from  fell  pursuit 
To  bear  his  periled  lord — no  more  forever  ! 


759833 


Eons  agone;  before  the  Prophet  —  aye! 

Ere  Father  Ishmael,  Abraham's  sinister  seed, 

O'er  thirsty  Paran  roamed  —  so  ran  the  old 

Legend  among  the  Shaanbah  —  lived  a  Sheikh 

Of  courage  high  and  valor  so  approved, 

The  desert-dwellers  of  twin  continents 

His  glorious  deeds  in  sounding  rhythm  sang 

From  Western  Syrtis  to  the  farthest  lunge 

Of  Ras  el  Hada.     At  his  death  —  'twas  when 

"With  sinewy  hands  he  rived  a  lion's  jaws 

That,  sanguine,  trapped  his  eldest  born,  nor  recked 

The  stealthy  mate  —  the  hoary  tribal  seers 

Foretold  the  coming  of  a  greater  Hassan. 

In  the  sonorous  stillness  of  the  night, 

Through  sequent  generations,  their  wise  men, 

Wandering,  scanned  the  planetary  aspects 

In  practice  of  a  rude  astrology 

That,  oft  deceiving,  of b  renewed  their  hope. 

Nor  unattended  was  their  patient  watch 

With  dim  foreboding  and  psrplexity, 

For  in  the  theme  were  Lords  of  houses  Eight 

And  Three  in- mystic  union  joined.     At  last 

The  glittering  oracles  of  the  sky  proclaimed 

The  time  was  full.     In  expectation  mute, 

His  swarthy  bandits,  closer  circling,  drew 

About  their  leader's  tent,  and  ere  the  line 

Meridional  was  passed,  glad  cries  announced 

The  hero's  birth. 

For  him  the  sapient  elders  chose  a  bride 
With  lineage  that  shamed  not  his  own. 
He  loved  her  as  the  tiger  loves  his  barred 
And  supple  mate ;  and  she,  in  turn,  loved  him 


fyassan. 

With  reverence,  meek,  submissive — as  becomes 
An  Arab's  consort.     Time  flowed  on,  and  soon 
His  sire,  in  course  of  nature  ripe  in  years, 
Followed  his  fathers  to  their  humble  tomb. 
Hassan,  in  uncontrolled  authority, 
Set  out  to  prove  by  deed  his  star-sworn  fortune. 
Fierce  as  the  simoon's  whirling  blast,  he  scourged 
The  desert  routes,  and,  ever  leading  on 
His  truculent  followers,  swept  with  grim 
Destruction  through  the  Tuareg  country,  where 
The  Tibbou  cringed  before  his  battle-yell, 
And  once,  by  shifting  dune,  o'er  mountain  range, 
Plateau  eroded,  e'en  to  far  Soudan. 

Gauging  all  greatness  by  heroic  feat 

Of  arms,  as  is  the  custom  of  his  race, 

He  inward  knew  that,  swol'n  as  was  his  fame, 

It  failed  achieving  aught  that  by  compare 

O'ertopped  the  towering  glory  of  his  great 

Ancestor ;  and,  not  meanly  envious, 

Though  by  a  generous  emulation  fired, 

He  feared  he  his  high  destiny  in  some 

Particular  betrayed.     Rapine  and  war 

His  recreation  were,  but,  lofty  aim 

Inspiring  him,  he  strove  with  none  save  man 

Grasping  his  arms,  or  riotous  beast  that  sheared 

Its  bloody  swath  athwart  the  tribal  flocks. 

Infant,  the  helpless  spawn  of  foe,  with  him 

"Was  safe,  and  round  his  helpmeet's  dandling  knees 

A  fringe  of  captive  children  grew.     For  this, 

When  urged  by  murderous  kinsmen  to  destroy, 

He  brief  excused  himself  with  haughty  claim 

Devout,  that  "Blindness  still  their  eyes  obscured." 


tjassan. 

Islam  for  mercy  the  pretext  gave  —  undreamed 
By  him  what  his  spouse  knew,  that  in  his  soul, 
Ungerminate,  lay  the  seed  of  sacrifice. 

To  them  a  man-child  came.     Him  the  proud  Sheikh 

AVorshiped  with  an  idolatry  that  rose 

To  equal  stature  with  his  Meccan  faith. 

When,  in  the  languorous  tropic  day,  supine, 

He  throned  the  palpitating  minim  on 

His  breast,  and  felt  about  his  pliant  face 

The  velvety  touch  of  pulpy  fingers,  hotly 

Engaged  in  puny  conflict  with  his  beard, 

And  listened  to  its  inarticulate  purl  — 

Of  human  accents  the  earliest,  and  nearest 

To  the  unvoiced  melody  of  voiced  words — 

Then  was  the  red  light  in  his  eye  seduced 

To  softer  radiance,  and  the  witching  unrest 

That  haunted  him  retired.     Hassan  loved  him 

So  strong  that,  breaking  usage  of  the  tribe  — 

Who,  bent  on  robbery,  leave  their  broods  intrenched 

By  vastnesses  of  arid  sand  —  he,  when 

On  distant  razzia,  took  his  heir  and  mate. 

One  woeful  night  —  may  it  ever  stand  accurst !  — 
Ke turning  slackly,  eastward  of  Ghadames, 
Laden  Avith  plunder  seized  in  mid-Fezzan  — 
Among  the  living  spoils  a  child  that  slept 
And  suckled  with  his  own  —  Hassan  drew  rein 
On  laboring  barb  and  patient  mahry,  pitching 
His  sable  hair-tents  where  the  Hammada 
El  Homra  spreads  its  dolorous  bosom. 
Darkness,  immeasurable  and  starless,  clothed 
The  isolated  camp  in  ebon  fog, 


ijassan. 

And  voice  of  Jinn,  elusive,  calling  hoarse 

To  answering  Jinnee,  echoed  hollow  through 

The  gloom.     On  even  poise  the  eerie  night 

Hung  trembling  to  its  lapse  toward  dawn,  when  —  hark  ! 

Was  it  mere  rustle  of  the  desert  air  ? 

Or  monstrous  flight  of  monstrous  birds  ?     No  !  No  ! 

"  The  Tuareg  !  The  Tuareg  ! "   Shrill  pealed  th'  alarm, 

And  quick  from  ruffled  tents  the  shrill  response. 

First  of  his  people,  Hassan  sprang  from  sleep 

Full-armed  and  furious  as  a  lioness 

New-ravened  of  her  whelps.     'Twas  fate  !  As  when 

Great  Ocean  in  his  crested  anger  shoots 

A  green  and  shaggy  hand  o'er  Guinea's  coast 

In  chaos  drear,  a  strident  front,  incurved, 

Tumultuous,  surged  through  the  waking  camp, 

To  burst  in  percolating  spray,  whose  each 

And  every  horrid  point  was  nimble  murder  ! 

Ferociously,  the  braver  few  fought  on 

Till  death  their  limbs  relaxed.     The  hero  saw 

Them  fall,  and  cravens  fly,  as  fly  sere  leaves 

Before  Sirocco's  lash.     Alone  he  stood, 

Dim  focus  of  a  hundred  hungry  spears, 

Undaunted.     "Yield,  Arab,  and  mercy  take  I" 

Scornful  and  proud,  the  answer  came  :  "Never, 

From  Tuareg  dogs  ! "  Ere  the  wild  death-scream  chilled 

The  listening  night,  a  timorous  plaint  struck  down 

The  valorous  warrior  in  him  and  awoke 

His  father  heart.     With  instant  plunge  he  shattered 

The  bristling  hedge,  and  from  a  level  tent 

Drew  out  the  wailing  infant.     Prompt  to  call, 

His  murmuring  steed  responded,  and,  red-carved 

With  many  a  gash,  he  rode  away.     The  tribe 

Yet  tell  with  pride  and  sadness  how  he  rode  :  — 


Out  of  the  noxious  fumes  of  fight,  over 

The  Hammada,  shimmering  red  from  pent-up  glare 

Of  day  released  ;  swift  as  Al  Borak  in  flight 

Through  the  blue,  into  the  murky  distance  far, 

Into  the  cavernous  West ;  league  into  league 

Gliding  continuous,  through  night's  last  hours, 

Through  iridescent  dawn,  through  gathering  glow 

Of  Afric's  torrid  morn — like  ride  ne'er  held 

Sahara's  marvelous  story.     And,  with  voice 

Fall'n  low  and  soft  —  which,  to  their  ruthless  hearts, 

Can  never  be  explained  —  they  tell  how,  grimed 

With  curdled  gore,  and  every  membrane  shrunk 

And  fiercely  clamorous  from  scourging  thirst, 

He  smote  back  pleading  nature  and  denied 

The  prayers  of  his  own  grievous  hurts,  but,  when 

The  babe  its  weak  remonstrance  urged,  he,  from 

A  timely  water-vessel,  laved  its  chapped 

And  grumous  lips  until  the  whistling  gourd 

Confessed  it  held  no  more. 

And  now,  in  utmost  loneliness,  and  sore 
Anguish,  he,  lovingly  and  covetous, 
Threw  back  the  clinging  folds  to  glad  his  eyes 
With  sight  of  his  first-born.     Beard  of  Allah  ! 
'Twas  the  captive  !     Before  him  passed  a  vision 
That  wrung  his  savage  heart.     He  saw  his  own 
Sweet  innocent,  foul-spiked  on  griding  spear, 
Each  severed  artery  spouting  crimson  sap, 
And  all  the  little  fingers  intertwined 
In  agony  —  a  grisly  apparition 
Burning  through  shuddering  mist  that  drifted  by 
In  separate  particles  !     Sick  with  heart-pain 
And  gluttonous  of  blood,  his  ranging  eye 


ijassan. 

Fell  on  the  child.     Hot  as  hell's  lava,  hate 

In  whitest  fury  fused  his  soul.     As  on 

A  quailing  hare  the  red-eyed  eagle  swoops, 

He  seized  and  swung  on  high  the  gasping  victim, 

And,  with  a  rasping  utterance  that  tore 

His  crusted  throat,  h3  raised  the  terrible  cry  — 

"Kevenge  !" — such  awful  joy  vibrating  him 

As  shook  the  mighty  Danite  when,  within 

His  lethal  arms,  he  gathered  the  deep-sunk 

Pillars  of  Gaza's  temple,  and  whelmed 

Her  multitudes  in  shrieking  ruin  —  he 

Content  with  death  thereat.     Yet  once  again, 

Shrill  as  triumphant  yell  of  wallowing  fiend 

Forever  damned  clutching  a  fresh-won  soul, 

Into  the  tremulous  ether  soaring,  rushed 

The  far-flung  scream  —  "  Revenge  !  "  In  bitter  glee 

He  laughed — and  never  lank  hyena,  squat 

Low  at  Algerian  funeral  gate, 

Such  dismal  ululation  dragged  from  his 

Foul  pipe — laughed  horribly,  so  horribly 

That  in  the  stress  and  throe  of  it  he  oped 

The  undiscovered  founts  that  fed  his  wounds, 

And,  gurgling,  blew,  full  in  the  infant's  face, 

A  ruddy  spume,  which,  wrung  by  sorest  thirst, 

It  eager  lapped,  and,  pursing  its  poor  mouth, 

Upraised  a  feeble  wail,  as  to  its  dam, 

For  more  of  the  scarlet  nourishment.     The  cruel 

Barbarian  stayed  his  hand,  and  curiously 

Surveyed  the  piteous  tragedy — for  even 

Scowling  Doom  hath  a  speculative  vein  ; 

And  as  he  gazed  upon  the  writhing  face, 

By  some  mysterious  transmutation,  it, 

To  his  delirious  eye,  the  semblance  took 


That  graced  his  own  lost  floweret.     Swift  passed 

The  image,  yet,  when  he  again  essayed 

The  vengeful  act,  his  arm  refused  its  office. 

A  soul  in  wrestle  with  Omnipotence  !  — 

For,  at  command  of  Infinite  Pity,  from 

Sweet  Mercy's  chalice  flowed  a  pregnant  drop, 

That,  by  the  unsearchable  alchemy  Divine, 

Straightway  so  leavened  his  torpid  heart  with  sense 

Of  older  brotherhood,  that  Love  reclaimed 

The  throne  usurped  by  racial  hatred  — love 

So  rich  it  well-nigh  cloyed.     He  saw,  and  saw 

But  darkly  yet,  like  one  new-come  to  Truth 

And  by  her  gleaming  purity  dazzled.     This 

He  knew  :     With  love  ineffable  was  all 

His  soul  enrapt.     Sharper  than  sharpest  pang 

That  lanced  his  lacerated  body,  pierced 

The  husky  rattle  of  the  infant's  breath. 

For  friend,  for  foe,  he  sought,  to  hold  the  young 

Life  in.     From  near  to  far  —  far  out  where  crouched 

The  dim  horizon  —  over  all  the  vast 

And  undulating  solitude,  naught  moved. 

In  him,  in  him  alone,  was  aid  —  in  him 

And  God  !     Love  called  to  consecration. 

Nature,  yet  strong  within  him,  at  the  last 

Awoke,  and  the  hot  love  he  bore  the  desert 

Swelled  to  fiery  speech  and  passionate  gesture  : 

"  Ye  naked  rocks  !  Ye  sun-kissed  sands  !    I  loved  thee  ! 

Ye  isles  of  green  !  Ye  fountains  of  sweet  waters  ! 

Allah  Taala  !  how  I  loved  thee  !    In  life, 

In  death  —  aye  !  know  that  in  the  world  of  shades 

I  loved  thee  !    Allah  is  great !  —  It  was  predestined  ! " 


Then,  in  the  brooding  stillness,  the  sacrament 
Was  wrought.     In  the  spirit  of  Him  who  suffered 
The  tender  buds  of  Jewry  on  His  breast 
To  lie,  he  took  the  drooping  lamb  within 
His  arms,  and  from  his  wasting  channels  gave 
It  life.     On  him  the  hollow  void  came  down, 
And,  rending,  lifted,  rolling  its  yellow  shell 
In  distant  scroll,  receding ;  and  he,  merged 
In  the  mingling  eternities,  scarce  knew 
Whether  the  lapping  of  the  little  tongue 
Were  joyous  plash  of  fountain  flowing  cool 
In  palm-tree  shade,  or  music  of  choral  reeds 
By  the  rivers  of  Paradise,  that  on  his  ear 
Fell  soft  as  echo  of  an  evening  prayer. 
Gently  as  summer  cloud  in  crystal  sky 
Dissolves,  the  soul  of  Hassan  passed  ;  nor  knew 
This  thing  that  he  had  done  was  greater  far 
Than  aught,  or  all,  the  elder  Hassan  did  ! 

Lone  atom  drowned  in  starved  immensity  ! 

Desert  deserted  —  nay  !  on  every  hand, 

As  by  the  Heavenly  choir,  eternal,  ranged 

In  rank  on  rank  around  the  Throne,  the  air 

Thrilled  sweetly  resonant  with  countless  flight 

Of  seraphim  on  silvery  pinion  borne ; 

That  sudden  ceased,  as  if  all,  listening,  heard 

The  Voice  Omnipotent,  from  measureless  deep 

To  deep,  roll  in  reverberations  large  : 

"Fate,  Providence,  Condition,  Race,  are  mere 

Titles  of  My  will— I,  even  I,  am  All ; 

And  like  to  these,  My  children,  all  are  linked 

In  everlasting  kinship ;  not  on  earth 

Alone,  but  through  the  rimless  space,  where  suns 


Hassan. 

And  worlds  innumerable  obedient  heave 
Their  heavy  globes.     Nor  do  I  hold  in  scorn 
Small  creed  or  thought,  for  each  exists  in  true 
Adjustment  to  allotted  nature  —  I, 
And  I  alone,  am  lastly  Judge  ! " 

A  silent  shadow,  ever-wheeling,  swept 

Its  growing  longitude  in  august  march 

O'er  drifted  sands  around  the  lonely 

Sanctuary  ;  round  blasted  tree  and  round 

The  human  mold,  within  whose  rigid  palm 

Lay  one  brown  hand  of  the  babe  who  slept  beside 

His  elder  brother.     Through  unchanging  calm 

Full-rounded  Hours  in  still  procession  one 

The  other  trailed,  and  Day,  grown  old,  drew  nigh 

To  Evening.     Wrapped  in  coronal  robes  of  fire 

Voluminous,  the  Sun  yet  lingered,  loth 

To  leave  with  dim-eyed  Night  his  sacred  ward. 

Out  of  the  East  a  band  of  warriors  came  — 
Sahara's  human  wolves.     All  day  they  followed 
The  slot  o'er  crumbling  rock  and  yielding  sand, 
And  now,  with  grating  crush  of  horses'  hoofs, 
TVith  rattle  of  spear  and  clash  of  scimetar, 
Circling  the  small  God's-acre,  grimly  viewed 
The  ruin  sublime.     Unto  their  desert  sense, 
As  it  were  writ  in  letters  of  living  fire, 
The  dire  recital  glowed  ;  and  they,  who  came 
"With  furious  hate  to  slay,  felt  moving  at 
Their  hearts  a  strange  compassion.     Rarely  touched, 
"With  reverent  hands  they  gave  him  sepulture, 
That,  in  accordance  with  their  faith,  his  soul 
Might  know  the  fullness  of  immortal  joy. 


tjassan. 

Where  he  lay  they  buried  him,  wondering 

With  equal  wonder  that  their  rancorous  foe 

Should  for  an  enemy  lay  down  his  life, 

As  well  that  they,  who  never  pity  gave, 

Gave  pity  unto  him.     While  they  at  one 

Another  gazed,  a  solemn  hush  on  them 

Descended,  and  unseen,  save  by  Its  work, 

Before  their  starting  eyes  the  awful  Hand 

Creative  moved.     The  leprous  bark  with  new 

Life  thrilled  ;  along  its  ancient  conduits  coursed 

The  singing  sap,  and  trunk  and  branch  and  twig 

Their  cylinders  in  fullest  contour  drew. 

In  emerald  beauty  nascent  foliage  sprang 

To  view,  bending  in  graceful  homage  before 

The  God  who  called  it  into  being.     Buds, 

New-born,  expanding,  burst,  unfolding  blooms 

That  wide  diffused  their  balmy  redolence, 

And  withered  but  to  herald  pendent  fruit 

Which  riped  its  purple  succulence,  embossed 

On  shield  of  green.     From  a  perennial  fount 

A  tinkling  rivulet  ran  o'er  pebbly  reach, 

Bubbling  its  joy  in  liquid  melody, 

Ee-echoing  sweet  from  guardian  banks  fresh-draped 

With  trailing  vines  in  tangled  maze  enmeshed, 

And  starred  with  flowers  that  shyly  blushed,  or  blazed 

In  haughty  splendor  on  the  beryl  slopes. 

Against  the  glowing  sky,  in  outer  range, 

Were  lofty  palms,  rearing  their  burnished  crowns 

In  simple  majesty,  about  whose  knees 

Dew-jeweled  grasses  clustered  thick,  curling 

Their  delicate  lengths  luxuriant,  and  all 

The  moist  interstices  exhaled  the  breath 

Of  humid  earth ;  while  from  the  tabernacle 


Cjassan. 

Above  floated  the  rippling  song  of  birds, 

Where  song  of  bird  was  never  heard  before. 

As  Moussa  from  the  burning  bush  retired, 

The  Imoshagh  drew  back,  and,  with  new  thoughts, 

In  meditation  went  their  way  in  peace. 

Years  trod  on  years,  and  now,  at  even-tide 

The  straggling  caravan  finds  there  the  rest 

It  seeks,  and  bearded  merchants  on  their  mats, 

Praying  with  grave  faces  to  the  East,  give  thanks 

To  Allah  for  the  sacrifice.     And  when 

The  night-wind  from  the  desert  gently  blows, 

Stirring  the  tree  to  murmurous  speech,  among 

The  world  of  voices,  one,  that  none  but  true 

Believer  hears,  will  softly  whisper,  "  I  AM  HASSAN  ! " 


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